十七岁,对于女孩子来说,是花季年华,是青春与梦想的日子,是花季少年从泰戈尔的诗集中走出来感伤的日子,是四月的春光滑落在花蕊里甜蜜温馨的日子。而对于我,十七岁是一片天昏地暗,是一场揪心裂肝的心灵浩劫。那天闲着无聊就到附近一个酒店去了。刚进酒店,就发现光洁的地板上映照着一张年轻而忧郁的面容,有着破碎节奏的音乐轻柔而清晰地从我的心头流过。我慢慢地走了过去。他越唱越游离,声音里有一种穿透金属的纯净,很具毁灭性的纯净,烟丝像一条小蛇在他的长发间游动,烟圈围绕着他。一曲终了,他抬头看见了身边的我,微微一笑。他有着很薄的唇和很刚硬的唇弧。可 At the age of seventeen, for girls, it is the time of the flowering season, the time of youth and dreams, the day when the flowering youngster comes out of Tagore’s poetry, and it is a sweet and warm day for the spring in April. For me, the seventeen-year-old is a dark and dizzy, heart-breaking catastrophe. I was bored and went to a nearby hotel that day. When I first entered the hotel, I found a young, melancholy face reflected in the smooth floor. The music with broken rhythm flowed gently from my heart. I walked slowly past. As he sang more and more, his voice had a pure, devastating purity that penetrated the metal. Smoke shuffled like a small snake between his long hair, and a smoke ring surrounded him. At the end of the song, he looked up and saw me around and smiled. He has a very thin lip and a very stiff lip arc. can